The #1 son spent a couple of hours texting me Wednesday morning. Which was unusual, because last time after he texted me and I replied, he crankily typed that I was costing his boss money every time I contacted him at work. Ain't THAT a fine how-do-you-do?
So...he started out asking me how I felt, if I was still in the hospital, what plans I had for the day. Eventually he stopped beating around the bush and announced that, as we had previously discussed, he would be needing a suit to wear to interviews, and for his duties at Missouri Boys State, which involve speaking to prospective citizens and their families.
I do not begrudge the boy a suit. I am surprised he hasn't pushed the issue before now. He has made do with a suit that belonged to his grandpa. It's not unattractive, but it IS a suit from the 1970s. Thank the Gummi Mary that #1 is long-waisted like my dad, and stands around six feet tall as he did, and that my dad had respectable taste in clothing.
#1 said he was wondering if I would pay for a new suit. Well of course. I can't expect him to spend his salary this summer on a suit, what with running all over the state on various entertainment ventures, and paying for food that he has to wrestle from the landlord's dog's mouth, and attending renaissance fairs, and purchasing 100s of LED lights for a project, with plans to invest in his own 3D printer. Money is not the issue. He IS saving us an entire year's tuition through his scholarships and RA swag.
I typed in, "I'm sure I can trust your fashion sense well enough to know that you won't buy a white Saturday Night Fever suit. Google it."
#1 sent back, "Now I know just what I'm looking for!" He did later admit to Googling, but said that suit looked exactly how he had imagined. He later sent me a picture of what he planned to buy. I found out that he had been working from home that day. And, oh, that he kind of needed that money RIGHT NOW in his account, because that very evening was the only time he would have to purchase a suit.
So...I rounded up The Pony, put on town clothes, and hoofed it to the bank, all dizzy and recovering from the previous day's surgery, to put cash money in his account so he could use it without a mandated hold on the funds. I had The Pony text him the minute the money was in, with the information that it was available immediately. By the time we got home, #1 called to report that he had purchased his suit, and could pick it up Monday after the alterations were finished. No grass grows under that #1's feet! And he chose a tasteful gray suit, along with black shoes, black belt, some kind of dressy shirt, and a purple tie. He's always had a keen fashion sense.
And then, there's The Pony. The Pony who has twice mentioned that he hopes we get some new girls at school this year. Girls who don't know him. The Pony who dressed himself for our trip to town for gas and a few groceries.
As he ran in to pay for my gas, I saw his ensemble: a pair of mesh athletic shorts, the style that might be termed basketball shorts, navy blue with a wide stripe down the side and around the bottom of the leg...and a black bowling shirt with a triangular slash of white across the front with a sprinkle of bright red...and black Adidas slides.
When he got back in T-Hoe, I told him, "Note to self. I will not ever wear these two pieces of clothing together again. Ever."
"What's wrong with them? I thought they matched."
"Well, you have navy shorts and a black shirt. The patterns clash, too."
"Oh. I thought these shorts were black. The ones I always wear my bowling shirt with. I guess they were the pair behind these. Huh. That's what you get for making me pick out my own clothes."
"You are going to learn to pick out your own clothes before you are 50 and still living in my house!"
"Well, you should have seen one of the guys at MSA. He put on unmatched clothes on purpose. They were really bad."
"Sadly, your effort was not on purpose."
Two peas. Same pod. Nothing alike. Except my love for each.